Magic's Past
by Jigoku No Shoujo
Summary: At the end of the Mage Storms Herald Mage Vanyel Ashkevron is startled when suddenly he finds himself in the body of his younger self, with a future in front of him that looks like nothing more than his own past... rating for safety's sake.
1. Chapter 1

Magic's Past.

Summary: Major Spoilers even in the summary don't read further if you haven't read any of the books… Vanyel, instead of disappearing at the end of the Mage Storms trilogy gets thrown back in time because of a disruption in the magic. Instead of being a ghost bound to a musical instrument he wakes up in the body of his fourteen-year-old self…

Chapter 1

Vanyel Ashkevron heaved up from his bed gasping from his most recent nightmare and gasped for breath before looking around his room, only relaxing from his stiff and alert posture when he remembered where he was. The early morning sunlight filtered in from dusty curtains and he was faintly startled when a beam of light warmed up a patch of skin on his hand

It had been just a few days here and he was still getting used to not being a ghost...

He flung his blanket off himself, changed into one of the great many ornate clothes he had and padded his way to the window after lacing up his boots. He opened it with a sharp tug and stood there for a little while before lifting his very young body onto the roof outside.

The tiny tower room was exactly the way he remembered it and as Vanyel let himself drop bonelessly onto one of the many worn pillows near the window and caught himself staring into the shiny surface of an old shield that he had polished on his thirteenth birthday.

'_I was such a vain little brat…though I've got to admit I am a good looking kid…"_

Snorting at his reflection he moved over to a pack of saddlebags near the window and pawed through it, checking if there was anything else he needed. It had taken only a few hours to figure out that he wasn't in some bizarre and cruel dream, it had also taken a few hours to figure he couldn't stay in the house the same way he had the last time around.

Good he was all packed up…all he would need to do was get himself some bread and all would be well. He already had money, it was amazing what one could find down the back of the sitting lounges! Three gold coins, a pouch absolutely brimming with silver and several jewels would get him going to wherever he was going and keep him for a year or two if he bought only the essentials…

Vanyel finished riffling through the saddlebags and tied them up securely. He pulled out the four letters from his bag and tapped them against his chin in thought. Finally he made his way back to his room with the bags in one hand and the letters in the other hand.

It was the work of a few minutes to drop off the letters off into their rightful places and a few minutes more before he was changed into a roughly spun tunic and leggings filched from one of his many cousins. Stopping by the armory he pulled on a set of light armor that he had found earlier and strapped on the plain but well made thin rapier like sword that he had stolen from the very back of the room. He thrust an equally plain dagger through his belt, one went into the holster in his right boot and one into the hidden space in the small of his back. Hopefully the items wouldn't be missed.

Spinning the dagger from his boot he brought a hand up and began the task of cutting his ridiculously long hair and throwing it into the small fireplace. When he finished he shook out his hair and fingered the short locks, gods that felt so weird… he'd never had his hair this short before.

Vanyel studied his reflection in the window and almost started. It looked like he was looking into a totally different person that just happened to have a passing resemblance to him. He frowned absently, it still wasn't enough… he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully and leaned against a near by shelf.

He was about to leave it at that when a piece of brown cloth caught his eye, Perfect! He snatched it up, giving it a cursory sniff to make sure it was clean before turning it into a strip and tying it around his forehead. Making sure it shadowed his eyes he looked back to the window and smirked at the stranger. This would do.

He crept down a little used hallway left over from when his grandfather had made the crazy additions to the manor, his leather clad feet making no noise against the cold stone floor. Pausing at the right doors he sent a letter into Mekeal's room and one into his sisters room before darting into the bower to slide the letter addressed to his mother under the closed door. He stopped outside his father's room, hesitating before sliding the letter under the door, hopefully the man wouldn't be awake until noon…

He scurried into his room and carried his stuff down the stairs, ducking out of sight when a servant appeared and breathing easier when he made it to the stables. He went straight to Star, his beloved horse and sighed regretfully, it was a darned shame but it would be a while before he could come back for her. He rubbed at her nose and smiled when she whuffed into his shirt.

Turning away he gathered up his gear and went over to one of the mounts that the couriers used, saddling one of them with one of the plain saddles and leading it out the door. He paused to flip a cloak stolen from another one of his cousins over himself and made sure all of the holsters were still snoring from the poppy juice he had put into their food the other night.

Within moments he was gone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As soon as he reached the bend to the Inn he had stayed at when his father had sent him to Haven he reined in his horse and hopped down to the ground lightly. He had taken a very long and winding route to get here, passing through a grove of trees and a small stream so that the trail would be lost. He grabbed his stuff, rubbed the horses cheek before looping the reins over the saddlebow and turning it around in the direction of Forst Reach. A sharp slap to its rear and a yell for it to go home and it dashed off back the way they came, making it that much harder for anyone to track the horse. Even if someone thought to follow the hoof prints back to where the horse came from it wouldn't do much good.

Vanyel flicked his cloak out of the way of his arms and adjusted the saddlebags so that they looked like a pack and hefted it experimentally. Good, that shouldn't be too hard to carry. Vanyel looked himself over and noticed something off with his outfit, sure he looked the part of a traveler, if he was part of a play… His clothes were too clean.

He felt his face twist into a grimace and turned his silver eyes to the road to make sure no one was looking. He then did something he hadn't had to do since those undercover missions as a Herald… he dropped to the dusty road and _rolled._ Had Yfandes been there she would have laughed her tail off

Picking himself up off the road he took another quick look around and struggled against the urge to brush himself off or go back to the stream and just throw himself in, that would defeat the purpose of throwing himself to the floor in the first place. He picked up his pack and dropped it onto the road, letting it get coated up with dust.

'_I just hope father comes by the inn soon, it's the only inn around the area so hopefully they'll think I tried to run off to Haven. The sooner they find out that 'Vanyel' isnt there is time closer to a bath."_

He shouldered his pack and started to walk down to the inn, making sure to walk through any muddy puddles and dust patches, it wouldn't do to have anyone think he wasn't anyone more important than a really dusty traveler…

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Chapter End…

Hope you liked that, this was an experiment to see if anyone would like it, I might also change a few things and play around with the plot but… well … lets see how good a response I get from this hey?


	2. Chapter 2

-1Magic's Past.

Summary: Major Spoilers even in the summary don't read further if you haven't read any of the books… Vanyel, instead of disappearing at the end of the Mage Storms trilogy gets thrown back in time because of a disruption in the magic. Instead of being a ghost bound to a musical instrument he wakes up in the body of his fourteen-year-old self…

Chapter 2

Mekeal had been happily digging his way through a second helping of his breakfast when a pale and sweating servant approached his father at the high table. At first he hadn't given it any thought, his father _was _the lord of the holding and thus had servants coming to him at all times of the day presenting him with news and reports.

It wasn't until one of his other cousins pointed out how the servant, a plain faced woman who looked on the verge of fainting, was trembling more than enough to make the paper she was holding shake visibly from where they were sitting. A strange sight considering how much effort his father took to make sure all of the servants were comfortable with him.

"Poor mite, looks li' she 'bout te faint'. Wonder wha' got er so upset?"

"Dunno…" he replied, leaning slightly out of his seat to watch as his father glanced at the servant with just about as much curiosity as he was.

His father gave the servant a concerned look before taking the piece of paper the servant offered, his dark eyes flicking curiously onto the letter before a confused frown flitted across his face. The man lifted his head and scanned the room, sweeping the lower tables where Mekeal and those his age usually sat. Their eyes met briefly and Mekeal watched as the man grew more and more annoyed, whatever or most likely _whoever _he was looking for probably wasn't there.

Mekeal's own eyes narrowed as he watched as his father signaled the trembling servant to fetch Father Leren, the priest stationed at Forst Reach, and watched as the man read the letter to his father.

Father Leren, who had gone rather pale as he quickly skimmed over the letter himself before reading it out loud, hadn't even gotten past the first few words before Withen's face drained of any sort of cheerful colour to be replaced with a angry red and now a purple that the people of Forst reach had learnt was the trademark of his rage.

"_**WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S GONE!"**_

The hall froze and had someone dropped a pin to the ground it would have echoed throughout the entire length of the room, eyes swiveled as one to the high table and the source of the furious rumbling snarl and every hint of shuffling stopped, scarred into petrified stillness at the uncharacteristic show of fury from a man everyone had come to think of as unflappable.

Lord Withen Ashkevron of Forst Reach crashed out of his seat, sending the chair splintering to the floor and turned to the Father Leren even as he straightened, snatching the piece of paper the man had been reading from to grip it in a white knuckled grip.

"Is this to be believed?" he growled lowly to the trembling girl who had brought him the letter, his anger still seething under the surface of his words.

"M…my Lo…Lord, I found it as I was cl…cleaning your r…room." she stuttered out, her hands twisting her apron so tightly that it was clearly in danger of ripping. "I…I went to c…check and…"

Whatever she'd been about to say was interrupted as the door to the left of the Great Hall crashed open to reveal his elder sister Lissa, eyes red rimmed with tears still streaking down her face as she frantically scanned the room, eyes raking over each table and into the corners of the room as if hoping that whoever she was looking for would suddenly pop out from a shadow or out from under one of the tables.

Lissa stopped halfway into the room and brought her shaking fists up to press against her forehead in obvious grief revealing the thing half crushed between her hands.

It was a letter that looked almost utterly identical from the one his father held in his hands, made from the same paper as the one in Withen's hands.

Lissa looked up momentarily, staring at his hands before looking up, her eyes boring straight into Withen's as her mouth twisted in the obvious effort to stem her tears. She marched up to the hight table, her feet echoing loudly in the still room.

She slammed the letter into the space Withen had accidentally cleared with his angered rise from the table, her form somehow conveying her aggressiveness to the entire room and glared at him through her tears.

"Look at what you've done Father, are you happy now? Proud that you pushed him to this?" she snarled, her hand simultaneously pushing down on and scrunching up the letter where she had slammed it onto the table.

Withen's eyes narrowed and opened his own mouth to roar back when this time the doors to the right of the hall opened to reveal the Lady Treesa with a flock of women from the bower, her own face streaked with very real tears and clutching her own letter in a chest. Stepping away from her flock she trembling to a halt at the high table, taking in the two other letters.

"_**VANYEL!!!" **_

Mekeal and just about everyone else in the room jumped at the outsized scream that had just come out of the usually demure woman and stared at her as if she'd grown two heads.

"_**VANYEL! WHERE'S MY VANYEL!" **_she screamed again, looking half hysterical.

Withen's turned away from his wife, who had meanwhile crumpled to the floor weeping, to address the silent group of Ashkevron's sitting with their eating utensils held in limp grips.

"_**FIND HIM! FIND VANYEL AND BRING HIM TO ME!"**_

Acting as one mind the whole room got to their feet with the sole exception of Mekeal, his eyes widened as what was going on finally got through to him. The thought left him cold.

Vanyel had disappeared?

Scrambling out of his seat Mekeal found himself tearing out of the room just behind everyone else, he let his feet carry himself to the room he shared with his brother. Faltering to a stop just in front of the clothes chest that belonged to his brother he slammed the lid open and stared at the contents in disbelief.

God it had to be true! The thing was empty!

Scanning the room Mekeal's eyes sought out the things that his brother had scattered over the room and found them gone. The small pile of music sheets that usually sat on the desk that only he used, some of the books from the shelf near the door, all of Vanyel's clothes, the saddle bags, all of the hair combs, brushes and hair ties as well as Vanyel's boots slippers and shoes were gone.

Most tellingly the lute that usually sat on its own rack near Vanyel's bed when it wasn't being used was missing, as was it's traveling case, the plain case sitting discarded on the floor and half under the bed.

Vanyel, the boy who put more care into storing his books, papers and instruments than he did to his arms and armor, had left his usual lute case on the floor with the buckle that was supposed to hold it closed hanging limply.

Stepping quietly into the room as if not to disturb anything Mekeal absently picked up the lute case, yep it was empty, and buckled it closed as he straightened from the crouch he'd had to go into to retrieve it.

Cradling the lute case in his hands Mekeal had been about to leave the room when something from under the dresser caught his eye. A plain white corner of what looked like a now familiar looking piece of paper.

Carefully putting the lute case down on the floor next to him as he got down onto one knee Mekeal fished the paper out from under the squat feet of the dresser, sitting down on his other foot with his knee still bent and flipped the folded paper over to blink in surprise at the one word he was guaranteed to know how to read.

_Mekeal_

At the sound of footsteps hurrying down the corridor the dark haired boy, without knowing exactly why, panicked for a minute before hastily folding and shoving the letter his brother had written to him into the top of his right boot, scrambling to his feet just in time for his father to come stalking into the room.

"Lor' Father?"

Withen turned to him and scowled darkly at the lute case he held in his hands, dark eyes scanning in his own look around the room, taking in the differences Mekeal himself had noticed.

"I see…" the man snarled, making the dark haired boy take a step back at the sheer force of fury those two words managed to convey. Withen gritted his teeth and turned sharply, stalking towards the door at the end of the hallway.

Mekeal dashed to his bed and dropped the case onto the rumpled blankets and scooted to the door after his father, running to catch up to him as the man disappeared through the door that led to the stables.

"Wait! Father where'r ye going?"

Taking the reins of the horse the stable master handed him and leading the horse outside the stable Withen nodded to the men already gathered in the courtyard and signaled to them as he swung himself into saddle, taking the reigns back from where he'd looped over the saddle.

"To find that useless stripling of a boy you call brother." he snarled again, wheeling his horse around to the front of the group gathered. It looked like every able bodied person who could ride was out, armsmen and Ashkevrons alike.

"You know what we're doing, find the boy and Bring. Him. Back. by _force _if necessary." he ordered the men, sweeping his arm in a dismissive gesture. "Sound your horns when you find him."

Mekeal watched the crowd disperse without really seeing it, leaning down slightly the dark haired boy pulled the letter he'd shoved into his boot and unfolded it, trying to puzzle out the contents of the letter Vanyel had left for him.

He'd just puzzled out 'Father' and 'Forst Reach' before the letter was tugged out of his hands.

Lissa, her own letter now carefully straightened out and folded in her left hand, smoothed out the his letter and scanned through the letter with an efficiency that Mekeal found himself slightly jealous of.

His sister lowered the letter to give him a long measuring look.

"_**What!?"**_

She stared at him for a few more minutes with her eyes narrowed at him and looking so much like their father that it Mekeal felt like backing away from her… slowly…

Breaking contact with his eyes she briefly looked up into the sky sighing, she glanced back at him folding it carefully.

"Ask Mother to teach you how to read properly and hide this from Father, if he finds out about it he'll burn it before anyone can read it to you…"

"What! Why cant _you _read it to me?" he exclaimed, as he accepted it back from her.

She paused in the act of going back inside the stables and stared through the empty doorway.

"… it's a lesson you need to learn… and its not my place to teach you…" she smiled faintly to herself and disappeared through the door, the sound of her footsteps fading the further away she got.

Mekeal glanced down at the folded square in his hand and growled, stalking back into the holding to take the quickest path back to his room.

Dropping down next to the lute case on his bed Mekeal squeezed the letter in a small gap in the handle, smoothing out the resulting bump until you could hardly tell it was there.

Letting the lute case fall down on his crossed legs Mekeal glared at the thing harshly.

Just what did his Peacock of a brother think he'd gain from running away? It wasn't like he'd get very far…

OooO

There we go, chapter two end! Hope you like it.


	3. Chapter 3

Magic's Past.

Summary: Major Spoilers even in the summary don't read further if you haven't read any of the books… Vanyel, instead of disappearing at the end of the Mage Storms trilogy gets thrown back in time because of a disruption in the magic. Instead of being a ghost bound to a musical instrument he wakes up in the body of his fourteen-year-old self…

Chapter 3: Red Visions.

Waiting around for Withen to finally notice his disappearance was about as exciting as watching a freshly painted wall dry… half of the day had yet to pass and already Vanyel was itching for something to do.

He had neither books nor scrolls with him to help pass the time and he really didn't feel like taking Woodlark, his lute, out of the saddlebags less his father come earlier than expected and catch him with a possession that so obviously belonged his son, especially one that almost literally screamed _**'Vanyel' **_the way Woodlark did. He'd already taken a nap and he really didn't feel like trying for another one.

When he'd first been this age he'd perfected the art of doing nothing in particular, except for those few times he'd been forced to practice his weapons work, sitting around being 'beautiful' had been about all he'd done all day besides playing music for his mother and his own amusement… but doing that dressed as he was and taking a leaf from that chapter of his life would feel odd… not to mention _look _odd.

'_The pose alone would give me away.' _the boy thought imagining his father bursting into the room. The man wouldn't even need take a single step further, sure the clothes would throw him for a second or two but no more than that.

Sighing in frustration the dark haired boy reached next to the bed to retrieve his sword, checking the edge for non-existent nicks or scratches, doing the same to his collection of daggers after needlessly checking them over for the second time that day.

After a few more fidget fits Vanyel gave up trying to stay in his room and carefully nudged his packs under the bed, sweeping his cloak up from where he had left it on the rooms only chair and swinging the length of fabric around his shoulders as he ducked out of the room, he pulled some of the material up over his chin so he was somewhat muffled in the thick fabric.

Locking the door behind him before making his way down the hall, the dark haired boy quietly padded down the stairs and into the common room, hopefully someone down there would be able to give him some relief from the inevitable boredom he had settled into.

The boredom and the somewhat heart thumping nausea that seemed to _grow _the more anxious he got, every passing moment he spent thinking about his impending confrontation was making it worse. If this didn't work there would be no telling what his father would do to him when the man brought him back to Forst Reach.

Stepping into the common room and ordering some of the rather cheap wine he vaguely remembered drinking from the same inn, Vanyel snorted to himself rather inelegantly as the serving girl eyed his rough clothes and seated himself in the far corner of the room where he could put a table between himself and the rest of the room.

With most of his face hidden by the rough spun cloth of the bandanna around his head with his now short black hair dirty from the road dust and uneven from the rather hasty haircut he'd given himself, Vanyel doubted that she saw anything worth her time, _especially _with his cloak bundled up around him the way it was, hiding the rest of his face. He could almost see her decide he wasn't worth the effort of seducing, even though the 'last time' he'd been here she'd almost tried to claw the door down from between them to get at him… the combination of his good looks and what had been his 'presumably fat purse' too tempting to leave alone.

Sighing into his cloak as he wordlessly accepted roughly hewn cup from the girl when she came over with a short nod. Vanyel laughed softly to himself at the expression on her face as she took in his dusty look and slouched further back in his chair, tipping it back far enough for it to touch the wall so he could swing his heels up to rest on the tabletop.

Quirking his lips he settled to watch the other patrons of the inn from his vantage point and wondered to himself how much longer he was going to have to wait.

Rocking the chair slightly the boy silently brought the cup of wine to his lips saluting the empty air in front of him as if toasting the gods before tipping his head back, letting the almost lukewarm liquid slip down his throat.

Hiding a wince at the rather bitter taste (which really _did _explain why the wine had been so cheap) Vanyel settled back in his chair and watched the door, one foot tapping the surface of the table in rhythmic beats.

He had spent the last two days planning this out, all he had to do now was wait.

No matter how boring that was going to be…

OoO

In places outside Valdemar having voices speaking to you in your own head was said to be one of the first signs of madness. Fensholding where he'd grown up hadn't been any exception to that rule even if it had been a part of Valdemar almost since its founding.

Tylendal Freylene, fifteen year old Heraldic Mage Trainee had once thought he'd been going mad. Though the whole business had sorted itself out to be a whole slew of Heraldic and Mage Gifts gone wild was almost nothing in comparison. Really… two years of having Gifts you had no knowledge of reacting on hair trigger, released at the slightest provocation, had _nothing_ on _this_.

He had a voice in his head.

A voice's that the _legitimate _voice, in his head couldn't hear at all. Gala had been pretty suspicious of his actions these past few days...

At first he hadn't really noticed anything, but then again the signs that something was wrong weren't all that noticeable, just a few jumbled dreams that had him waking up _far _too early in the mornings for his liking.

The whispered comments he'd heard throughout the day and actually the _last few days_, had come in a strangely melodic male voice, he'd brushed it off, thinking it was his own conscience being particularly loud but now…

'_Me? Someone's conscience? That's so _sweet_… I don't think _anyone _has thought of me as qualified to be someone's conscience!' _the voice laughed, giving the impression of being doubled up with laughter. _'Think of me as something _opposite _of a conscience Ty-len-dal' _the voice purred.

Tylendal scrunched his eyes shut and tried block the voice out, studiously ignoring the sensation of a finger poking him in the side even as the voice continued to make little comments about anything and everything he'd come across.

He'd been in the middle of class when the voice had first made itself clearly known, staring at the back of Nevis's head, a tall boy with curling dark brown hair and blue eyes who had come with his parents to Haven, wondering how the other boy would react if Tylendal were to actually _respond _to Nevis's tentative flirting.

'_You could do a whole lot better than _that _waste of space…'_

He'd fallen out of his chair at that, previously the voice had been quiet, barely above a whisper and making suggestions to do things he never would have thought of doing otherwise.

He'd looked around wildly, wondering how he'd heard a voice so close to him when none of his classmates had been anywhere near him and given the way all of them were staring at him in shock, having him fall out of his chair had been just as shocking to _them _as it had been for him to actually fall out of the chair in the first place.

From that point onwards the pest in his head had only gotten worse, not at all happy with just making him think he was going _insane_, the voice in his head had taking to talking to him at odd moments, like at the exact moment when he was about to walk into a room, or like the time the voice had made appraising comments about his body structure _While. He'd. Been. Bathing!_

He'd almost had a heart attack! He'd let out an embarrassingly high pitched scream that had his dorm-mates rushing to find out what was wrong… they were _still _teasing him for it even though it had been nearly two days since the incident, now his hastily thought up excuse that he'd seen a rat had made the rounds of the entire palace.

Still, this was slowly driving him nuts! If he didn't know any better he would say that he was being haunted! Not only that but the spirit was also making sure that any attempts of responding to Nevis's flirting advances ended in disaster.

The menace that had taken up residence in his head had taken to singing some of the most awful sea shanties while in the boy's presence, making crude comments about his looks and manners even at the tiniest stray thought of the boy and just recently in one horrible moment when he'd been talking to the taller boy, just when the brown haired boy looked like he was leaning in for a kiss, the voice had let out the most terrible scream he'd heard in his _life._

Needless to say he wasn't going near Nevis again, _especially _not after the scene that had followed _that _confrontation, he was never going to be able to look the taller boy in the eye again…

'_Pft! And that is _such _a loss… like I said, you could do a _lot _better than someone like him!' _the voice laughed lazily, giving off the impression he was studying his nails.

Snarling at the comment, his face redder than it had _ever _been, Tylendal stalked over to his rooms, storming past his fellow students and slammed the door behind him with a resounding crash, throwing himself onto his bed the blond grabbed a pillow and stuffed his head under it, the humiliation of the encounter still burning inside him.

"Oh yeah? Like who?" he muttered out loud, knowing by experience that trying to talk mentally to the other presence was difficult, he had to suppress the connection he had to his twin brother _and _the connection he had with his companion Gala to do so without the both of them hearing, it was a pain!

There was no warning before the mental image was thrown at him, no sense of mischief that was the usual warning he was learning to look out for, one moment he was grumbling into his mattress and the next moment he felt his mouth go dry, his eyes popped wide open and unseeing and the pillow he'd been using to cover his head with fell to the floor when he jerked his head up.

Tall, lean body, all whipcord and sinew, the man that the voice in his head was showing him looked like he'd never spent a moment to let himself relax let alone sit down, dressed elegantly in a set of white clothes the man looked like was so fit he didn't have an ounce of extra fat on him _anywhere_. He had strong, long fingered hands, looking like they belong on a musician more than on such an obvious fighter and then the man's _face_.

Sharp features, high cheekbones with slightly angled grey eyes that glittered with silver, framed by a head of straight raven black hair shot through with white and silver, giving him an exotic look that combined with look of intelligence, humor and attraction in those amazing eyes.

Tylendal didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until he collapsed off the bed and onto the stone floor after unknowingly rising up to his hands with his knees tucked underneath him, his arms had gone weak…

A rush of air escaped him along with a strangled 'Guh!' as he struggled to get himself under some semblance of control.

"T… there is no way someone… like… _that_… exists!"

A shimmer in the air next to him caught his attention and his eyes widened as a human shape appeared out of nowhere, a see-through teenager a few years older than him with dark red hair wearing what looked to be a strangely modified version of Bardic Reds, _full _Bardic Reds, meaning the apparition in front of him was a Master Bard…

The Master Bard crouched down next to him and grinned sharply at him, wicked blue eyes dancing with mischief he didn't even _bother _to hide.

'_Want to bet on that?' _the blue eyed bard asked, voice sounding identical to the pest that had been bothering him for the last few days.

"You!" Tylendal exclaimed, pushing himself up onto his elbows so he wasn't quite lying sprawled out on the stone floor.

'_Stefen…'_ the red haired 'ghost' replied, his grin widening to a toothy 'cat-got-to-the-cream' display that had Tylendal's skin prickling in wariness.

'_I don't know what he looks like right _now_…' _the voice, no _Stefen _said, continuing off from where he'd been interrupted. _'… but I do know that _is _what he will look like in a few years, are you still sure you want Nevis __when you could have _this_?'_

Another image came to him, the same man as before only this time the man was in bed, a single sheet all that was saving him from being completely uncovered, hair in perfect disarray, his gorgeous silver eyes half lidded and looking at him in sleepy amusement, his perfectly bowed lips curving slowly in a near-shy half-smile that had Tylendal's toes curling at the image alone.

His bones turned to rubber…

The image disappeared and Tylendal wasn't really surprised that he had ended up flat on his back again, head stinging from the impact against the unforgiving stone and smarting even as the curly haired blond tried to get his limbs working for him again, ignoring the smirking apparition now sitting on his bed and grinning down at him knowingly as it leaned its head against an hand.

'_Oh my… too _much_?' _Stefen purred knowingly, pushing a stray length of straight red hair behind an ear as he tilted his head to the side as if lovingly admiring the image he'd sent, his grin now stretching ear to ear, _'He _is _rather beautiful when he's sleepy and just waking up isn't he?'_

Face flushed completely red and panting as if he'd run around the entire length of the companions field and back Tylendal tried to gather his scrambled wits.

"T… there is no… way… no one is that p… perfect!" he stuttered, swallowing a few times to wet his throat. "If… if he _exists_… then what's his name!" he demanded, getting his arms beneath him once more, staring at the apparition in front of him and wishing he had enough strength in his legs to aim a kick at the thoroughly amused Bardic ghost in front of him.

'_His name is Vanyel, Vanyel Ashkev…' _Stefen answered him only to be cut off by a rather surprised exclamation from the next room over.

Tylendal, distracted by the commotion as well, scrambled to his feet and opened the door, listening to the uncharacteristic note of real worry coming from Herald Mage Savil, his mentor.

The woman was giving instructions to his other room mates as she walked into the room carrying a saddle bag and looking like she was getting ready to pack.

"… messenger came to me from Forst Reach, my nephew seems to have run away from home and my brother sent a messenger asking for my help, so until I return I want the three of you training with Jaysen."

"How long will you be gone?" Donni, his fellow trainee asked, wringing her hands nervously, following behind her mentor into the room.

"Your nephew ran away from home without getting caught and brought back home? That doesn't really sound like someone brought up like lordling?" Mardic, his other dorm-mate asked.

Savil frowned, the expression looking more confused than he'd ever seen it. "I don't understand it either, I've _met _the boy and he seemed like nothing more than a pretty prop in his mother's bower, he seemed to be the type that wouldn't last a week out in the real world and yet…"

She paused, lifting her hand to read the crumpled note that she'd received from the messenger who had come from Forst Reach, a note hastily penned by the priest her brother kept at his Holding.

According to the letter Withen's guardsmen had been put to sleep with a concoction of poppy juice, so far no one had been able to figure out how the boy had acquired the stuff. His clothes and possessions had been packed away and taken with him, leaving behind the boy's prized horse, a single lute-case and a letter to both parents that had been left in their quarters.

The boy had slipped away and hadn't been noticed as missing until the sun was high up in the sky.

That didn't sound like the boy she'd met the last time she'd visited Forst Reach, the twelve year old had been a pretty, empty-headed and _vain _little boy who had _known _just how good looking he was, milking the praise he'd gotten from his mother and her ladies like it was expected.

Still for all of his airs the boy _had _to have known that living away from his father's holding wasn't going to be anything like the songs he had sang, if the way his nose had wrinkled that one time he had sung 'Downtrodden Bard' were any indication.

No, with the careful planning that had gone into the escape, the boy _had _to have had help, even Withen agreed with that. Someone had gotten to the boy and had helped him get away and that was the thought that scared her.

For someone as young as her nephew, naive in the way all children were, he would have been easy to trick and with how good looking he was even at his young age the trouble he could end up getting into would be _disastrous_.

She had to find him!

Spine straightening Savil called for Margret, her servant, and accepted the travel rations to pack into her bags.

Tylendal came out of his room and helped her with her bags, not even noticing that the apparition of the bard that had been bugging him followed behind him, unnoticed by everyone else in the room.

Escorting his mentor down to the Companions field, Tylendal gave his mentor the pack he was carrying to her and watched as she secured it to her Companion's saddle as he waited for the preparations to finish.

Another Herald, was waiting for them by the entrance to the companions field, packed and ready to go.

"Savil!" he greeted, guiding his Companion over meet her. "We're heading out to Forst Reach right? The boy we're going to be looking for, what's his name?"

Swinging into Kellan's saddle Savil settled herself before answering and as such missed the look of complete shock that crossed over her latest trainee's face as she called out the name. "Vanyel!" she called over, guiding her Companion out of the field, "Vanyel Ashkevron!"

Tylendal's mouth gaped open and his head whipped over to the 'ghost' leaning against the fence of the Companions field.

One red eyebrow quirked and the smirk was back on his face.

'_Real enough for you?'_

_OoO_

Chapter end!

Wow and I thought the plot bunny for this story had died a horrible death… For some really odd reason I felt the burning urge to sit down and write more, guess the bunny revived? XD hope you like this recent update!

Authors Note:

1) Nevis is the jerk that once upon a time broke Tylendal's heart and accused him of 'seducing' him.

2) If you don't know who Stefen is I. Dropkick. You.


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